


your touch, my comfort, and my lullaby

by deathlytireddan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlytireddan/pseuds/deathlytireddan
Summary: Phil’s day starts out slow, congraled, murky at the edges.Phil has a migraine, Dan takes care of him.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96





	your touch, my comfort, and my lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know how Phil experiences migraines, and everyone is different, but this is how I generally do. 
> 
> Title from Troye Sivan’s song EASE

Phil’s day starts out slow, congraled, murky at the edges. 

He blinks in the dim early light, squints at Dan’s sleeping face, dented with a pillow crease on his cheek. His mouth is wide open, hair a wild mop on his head and the pillow.

Phil feels - stuffy. He’s gotten a good night’s sleep; he doesn’t think he has any right to feel how tired he is. A strange guilt pricks at him. He ought to get up, start the coffee, start the morning.

But all he wants is to turn back over and sleep until the next morning.

He turns onto his side, looking at Dan’s puffy face. Dan would give him a few little pokes and tell him off, gently, to get more sleep if he still feels tired.

Phil scoots over, moving an arm over Dan’s side, tucking into the gaps between them, and goes back to sleep.

It’s a Saturday, anyway. 

-

He hits his alarm several times, swearing and grumbling every five minutes, before he gives in and turns it off, shoving his glasses onto his face with a grimace. 

He can feel Dan is sitting up in bed. He turns over, frowning. His eyesight feels hazy and unfocused, like he’s wearing the wrong eye glass prescription.

“Morning,” Dan says, giving him a little smile. He’s reading something on his phone, but he spares a minute to look Phil over categorically, making sure everything’s alright. 

Phil sighs.

“Bad night?” 

The light slants in, aching.

The stuffy feeling is stronger. Phil turns over, away from Dan. 

“No,” he croaks. 

The usual knots in his upper body are tighter than usual. Phil rubs at his shoulder, gets a sharp twinge traveling up and down his neck when it cracks.

He turns back to Dan. He thinks it’s been a couple hours since he he woke earlier, judging by Dan’s state of dress, his clean skin, but Phil feels simultaneously underslept and overslept.

 _Fuck_.

“Fuck.”

Dan looks over sharply. “Phil?”

“Nothing.” It’s a kneejerk reaction, and he’s annoyed at himself for it immediately but. Oh well. Phil sits up. “I overslept?” It comes out, frustratingly, like a question. He did oversleep, but he also knows what the true problem is.

“Yeah.” Dan still isn’t going back to his phone. “You okay? You really didn’t want to turn off your alarm.”

“Mmm.” 

Phil gets out of bed, ignoring Dan’s concerned eyes following his back, goes to the toilet, splashed water on his face, makes his way to the kitchen. He downs three glasses of water, a few handfuls of dry cereal, and a couple tablets. 

He makes a mug of bad, milk - less instant coffee, chugs half, leaves the rest in the sink.

He can feel it creeping in, just at the edges of his head. By the afternoon he’ll be miserable. 

Dan has made the bed and got back on it with a book by the time Phil gets back. He wants to get back into bed and have a good cuddle, complain, be soothed and cared for. 

Dan would be happy to do it. He’d know without words that Phil’s jaw and neck and shoulders feel too tight, would rub and dig his fingers into just the right spots.

Instead, Phil pulls on jeans and a hoodie and a jacket, puts his phone and his keys into his pockets. 

“Where are you going?” Dan asks, suspicious. 

“Tesco. We’re out of milk.” 

“Okay,” Dan says slowly, closing his book with a finger between the pages. “Want some company?”

Phil leans over to give him a quick kiss. “No, I’m okay. See you soon.”

Dan leaves his face tilted up for another kiss. Phil leans back down. The blood shifting down makes his head throb. 

“Right,” Dan pushes him away with a grin, returning to his book. It looks like one of those philosophical books he’s always got his nose in lately. “You can go away now.”

-

The bright fluorescent lights make his strange vision worse. He stumbles along, feeling like he’s drifting through the isles, lightheaded. It’s disconcertingly similair to disassociating, and that isn’t something Phil wants to be reminded of. 

He hopes no one thinks he’s drunk. Dan hadn’t, and he knows Phil, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking the old woman in line behind him is looking with narrowed eyes.

He buys lactose free milk and a package of biscuits, and two kinder eggs at the checkout. Dan will think it’s funny, in an eye rolling sort of way. 

He tries not to grimace when he squints down at his wallet, trying to find the right card. The cashier is chewing gum. Phil grits his teeth as their lips smack together.

He grabs his things and leaves as fast as his head will let him.

-

He’s home. 

Inside, Phil leans against their door with an exhale of relief. The shopping bag dangles from one arm, strap digging into his skin.

“Phil?” Dan calls from the lounge. 

Phil takes a few deep breaths, opens his mouth and massages at his jaw. “Yeah,” he calls back, the sound of his own voice sending a wave of pain across his forehead. 

It’s like he’s surfing a wave. Every step forward is a crescendo, the space between a moment of dizzy relief.

He opens the fridge, setting the whole bag inside without bothering to put anything away, except for Dan’s kinder egg. 

Phil should really eat lunch, it’s past time for it, but his stomach is tense and unhappy with the situation. 

Phil makes his way into the lounge. It’s turning into a dark, cloudy day, at least, and Dan doesn’t have many lights on. 

The television is on, something about politics. Dan is folding laundry on the sofa, little piles of warm bathroom towels on one side of him, kitchen towels on the other side. He’s in the middle of sorting socks out.

Phil drops the kinder egg in his lap. “I’m taking a nap.”

Dan looks up at him. “What’s up?”

Phil wants to snap, ask why Dan didn’t question him before, keep him from going out. He keeps his mouth shut. Phil is the idiot who went out, even when he knew he shouldn’t have. It’s not Dan’s fault.

“Headache? Migraine? A bad one?”

Phil doesn’t think he so much as blinks, but something in his expression tells Dan everything.

“I’ll bring you coffee and toast in a sec, alright?” Dan squeezes his hand.

Phil nods, slow. “Thanks.” He squeezes back. “Coffee, too? Milk’s in the fridge in the bag.” 

“Kay.” Dan puts one of their fuzzy blankets, warm and clean - smelling from the dryer, around Phil’s shoulders and nudges him toward their bedroom.

-

Phil sheds his clothes, keeping his pants and t shirt on, climbs on top of the bedding. He pulls the fuzzy blanket up to his chin.

He forgot to close the curtains, but he thinks Dan will when he comes.

Sure enough, there’s the sound of soft steps and the door creaks. Phil takes a deep breath and sits up, slow, frowning, as the pain deepens, sharpens. and then slows.

It’s bad, for it to hurt so bad so soon in the day. Normally it build and builds, but it’s dropped onto him already.

Dan sets the dishes down and moves to close the curtains. Phil sees the light decrease behind his eyelids and his shoulders sag.

Dan is smiling gently when he opens them, holding out a plate with buttered toast, one of the biscuits Phil bought, and a mug of gently steaming coffee.

Dan gets into bed next to him. “Can I?” 

Sometimes, Phil doesn’t like to be touched. It depends on what kind of day it is, what kind of pain. Today he just wants Dan to hold him. He nods, trying not to tear up. 

Dan scoots closer. Phil leans back into his chest. Dan holds his coffee while he eats the toast, then takes the empty plate and passes him the mug.

Dan’s body is like a fortress, keeping out the rest of the world and all the senses that hurt him. The only thing he can’t help is with Phil’s own body, determined to hurt him. 

“Good?” Dan asks, voice soft and low, setting the plate on the nightstand. 

Phil nods, holding his coffee between his hands and breathing it in. Caffeine is a lifesaver when he’s like this.

“Do you want to listen to something?”

“Yeah.” It’s strange, since the sound hurts, but it’s better than being left alone with nothing but his pain.

Dan taps at his phone for a minute, and then Phil hears David Attenborough’s voice. It’s nice and low, and evenly toned. 

Phil drains his coffee in a few minutes and Dan tucks him into bed like he’s a child, setting the phone upside down so the light from the screen doesn’t disturb him. 

“Anything else?”

“No,” Phil whispers. “Thanks.”

Dan kisses his forehead and then his mouth, and closes the door behind him.

Phil sleeps almost immediately, his body exhausted from the pain.

-

It’s late afternoon when Phil wakes up. Dan’s phone has died, and the only sounds come from outside. It’s raining lightly, tapping on the glass, shifting the light that comes in underneath the curtains. 

Phil stretches, cracks his neck. He feels better. It might get bad again, in a few hours, but he’s okay for now. He feels weak, and his stomach is tense.

But he’s okay.

Phil plugs in Dan’s phone and opens up the curtains for Dan’s succulents. It’s foggy and overcast outside. A car splashes through the street. 

“Hey,” Dan says from the doorway. 

Phil turns and gives him a little smile. “I’m better.”

Dan comes to stand behind him, big hands wrapping around Phil’s middle. Dan rocks him, slow and gentle, in front of the window. “Good. Just needed a biscuit, huh?”

Phil rolls his eyes. 

Dan laughs and shifts so he can get to Phil’s mouth. He tastes like a kinder egg. “You taste like chocolate.”

“Here.” Dan hands Phil the other egg.

“Where’d that come from?” Phil grins, sleepy. pulling off the wrapping with tired fingers

“Yes, Phil, I shit chocolate kinder eggs.” Dan takes the wrapper from him. 

Phil doesn’t deem that worthy of a response.

“C’mon then, I made dinner.” Dan drags him away. Phil follows, chewing. Dan’s can be alright creatures, sometimes. 

He gives Dan a gross, chocolatey kiss on the cheek to prove his point.

-

After dinner they curl up on the sofa. Dan puts something on the tv, and rubs at Phil’s shoulders, his neck, his jaw, the space behind his ears where he always seems to melt, all the pain leaving him. 

Dan’s are definitely good creatures.

-

“Better?” Dan asks, after, when Phil’s head is on his shoulder and his eyes are drifting shut. The film is over, but neither of them are making any attempts to move.

“Yeah,” Phil yawns. 

Dan cracks his knuckles. “Master of erotic massages.”

“Shhh.” Phil isn’t going to deem that with a response, either. He’s seeing a trend, here.

“I love you, even if you’re an idiot,” Dan adds.

“Love you too,” Phil says, automatic, then looks up with a frown. “Why am I the idiot here?” 

“Because I don’t go to tesco when I have migraines.”

“You don’t get migraines.”

“That’s beside the point. Why did you go?”

Phil huffs. He isn’t in a mood to talk about his feelings, even though Dan clearly wants to have a proper talk about this. 

“Why do we have to talk about this now?” He asks, sitting up.

Dan bites his lip. “We don’t. But. Tomorrow?” 

Phil sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t - I don’t know.” He looks at their legs, all tangled up together. “I want to be able to do things.”

Dan nods. “I get that, but will you try not to go to tesco and come back looking like you’re gonna pass out, please?” 

Phil lays his head back down. He’s long gotten over feeling bad, feeling guilty, for having Dan look after him. But Dan being so clearly upset for him is still hard, sometimes.

“No more hospital visits, remember.” It’s a mumble, but Phil still hears it.

“God, Dan, I know.” He gives him a good, tight squeeze. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Dan exhales. Phil feels it inside his own chest, too. 

“Thank you.” There’s a soft, sweet kiss to the top of his head. “Let’s go to bed, bub.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written for a long time, and this feels a bit clunky and awkward, but I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> [reblog on tumblr here](https://mylionbabe.tumblr.com/post/612508237183451136/dan-comforting-phil-3-hehe-as-always-for-me-im-a)


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